


Weak light and red flames

by ca_te



Category: Death Note
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/pseuds/ca_te
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written on 20 December 2009. Written for dn_contest over at Livejournal. One-sided Near/Matt, use of 2nd person from Near's POV.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Weak light and red flames

**Author's Note:**

> Written on 20 December 2009. Written for dn_contest over at Livejournal. One-sided Near/Matt, use of 2nd person from Near's POV.

"I Fell Into A Burning Ring Of Fire I Went Down, Down, Down And The Flames Went Higher"

[Johnny Cash- The ring of fire]

 

Matt looks at the spurts of sunlight entering the room. He tries to focus on the small dust grains twirling in there. You sigh by his side, you are sitting on a chair and twirling a lock of white hair around your index finger. You listen to Matt's laboured breath.

Your grey, round eyes move towards the alarm clock. An hour since he took the medicine. Shifting uncomfortably on the chair you bring your left knee up to your chest.

It is the first time that you and Matt have been sent on a mission on your own. Before there had always been Mello with you, and Mello knew how to face everything, how to smoothly deal with everything.

You look at the thermometer on the nigh-stand and at the little bottle of pills. They make you think about cherry's stones. A pale, little hand reaches for the bottle and shakes it slowly.

Matt furrows his brows, trying to understand where the sound comes from, he shifts under the blanket. Sweat drops forming at the base of his neck, red hair scattered all over the pillow. He feels so hot as if there were flames all around, as the right of fire of that song which Mello likes so much.

-Mh...What's that?

You look at the plastic jar in your hand, then at Matt, then put the pills back in place.

-Nothing.

Matt chuckles. He feels warmer under the blankets, and searches fresh spots of the mattress with his feet. He remembers he used to do like that when he was little too. He remembers also the sense of calm and safety he had felt during the nights back at Wammy's.

Something irritates his throat, maybe the dust grains in the light, he thinks. You gulp as the red-head coughs.

A white blur in the corner of Matt's eyes and there's a little hand holding a glass of water in front of his face. Matt takes it. The water is fresh in his mouth and down his throat.

You glance at your wet sleeve. Mello would have never spilt the water. Matt knows Mello would have shouted him to shut up before giving him the water. But both of you know that he would have given him the water anyway.

-Thank you.

Matt flashes a crooked smile at the white-haired boy. You nod, take the glass and put it back into place.

-You know? You don't have to be here.

Matt hates the sensation of having a pile of bricks on his chest. He closes his eyes. It has never been ill since he was just a kid. When they found him he had a pneumonia, he had been in that disrupted house for weeks, waiting after they had took his father away. The first thing Mello had told him when they became friends was "Don't you ever dare to get ill again". Matt was a child of honour and he is almost a man of honour now. But this time, being in freaking Siberia it seems he couldn't avoid it.

He opens his eyes again and looks at the weak winter light dancing on the carpet. You observe Matt's hand moving around on the blanket, tracing slowly circles as if following his thoughts.

-I didn't keep a promise, Near.

It's nice to hear Matt saying your name, even though his voice is tired and his body temperature is too high.

You have never been ill, not once in his your so far. Of course you have read some medicine books, but yet you know that to feel something directly over your skin, or inside your body, is a different thing.

You look at Matt's flushed cheeks.

-Don't worry. I won't tell.

Matt turns facing your pale face.

-This is a promise too.

The red-head knows that feeling his body lighter is an effect of the medicines, yet a part of him knows it's also fault of Near's words. He smiles.

You think that Matt's smiles are nice to look at at, particularly now, with all his red hair like an halo around his face. Sometimes when you look at him or at Mello you have to remind yourself that things like angels or gods clearly don't exist, and you have to work hard on remembering it, 'cause sometimes it's really difficult not to believe in them in front of Mello's eyes or Matt's smiles.

-Thanks, Near.

You nod, thinking that it is the nearest thing to "you are a friend" which you have ever heard and would ever hear.

You glimpse at the window. The weak light is fading, probably is going to snow again. But in the room is warm. As Matt's breath becomes more regular and his features relax as he dreams, you let your fingers linger over his forehead. The temperature is still quite high but is going down, you think. No one has taught you how to feel someone else's fever by touching their foreheads. Probably this is the only method Mello uses instead.

You move some red hair aside. You had never noticed that Matt's eyebrow were so thin and so red.

You eyes go a little bit wider at the though and you touch your forehead instead.

These are not thoughts you would expect from yourself. You wonder if maybe you got the flu too.

 

As outside it starts to snow and Matt dreams of fire which doesn't burn you slowly fall asleep on the chair, your hand near Matt's on the blanket and your body temperature slightly higher as your breath almost mechanically sets its rhythm over Matt's.


End file.
